


You Are Chaos To My Thoughts

by Lily_rizzy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, M/M, Post-Break Up, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_rizzy/pseuds/Lily_rizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set one year after the break-up of 5x12<br/>After Ian bumps into Mickey and his new boyfriend in a diner all the doubts he had regarding the break up come flooding back, and he soon sets out to win Mickey back, whatever the cost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a prologue sort of thing to see if people are interested in reading. If they are, it's going to become a multi-chapter work dealing with how both Ian and Mickey find each other again after a year apart. It will also look at snippets of both characters lives after the break-up and some issues that weren't dealt with in season 5 (eg. infidelity).

Ian Gallagher couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. 

He was sat in some posh North Side diner, having stopped in for a drink after a job interview at some posh corporate business building, when he saw him. The sudden pounding in his chest and the drop in his jaw couldn't be helped and he certainly couldn't look away. 

Mickey Milkovitch was sat comfortably at a table, a beer placed in front of him and a young man opposite him. Ian could only see the side of both their faces but he knew without a doubt what he was seeing. The other man, with short blonde hair and brown eyes, was from what Ian could tell really good looking. The two of them were laughing together, heads bent as they whispered to each other. It struck Ian how intimate it all looked, like they were completely wrapped up in each other.

They looked together. They looked like they were on a date.

Ian wasn't ready for the sudden ache that started in his chest at that realisation, nor the coil of jealousy and possessiveness that began to unwind within him. It only intensified when Mickey reached over to stroke a thumb against the back of his companion’s hand. Ian couldn't decide if he wanted to break that hand or throw up. 

Since when was Mickey so open and affectionate in public? 

Without thinking, he marched up to the table, coming up behind Mickey. The blonde noticed him first, looking up with a mixture of curiosity and irritation, but Ian spoke before he could say anything.

"Hey Mick, fucking long time no see, huh?" 

The blondes eyes dropped to Mickey, who spun round so quickly to look at Ian, he nearly sent his beer flying onto the floor. He stared at Ian, his eyes travelling up and down his body, and while Ian would like to have thought he was checking him out, it felt more like he was checking to see whether he was really there.

"Gallagher? You've got to be fucking kidding me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kind comments on the first part, and to all the people who took the time to read it! This chapter looks at Mickeys life following the break-up up until the events of the prologue. The next chapter will continue from there.  
> (Sorry if anyone seems OOC, I tried my best!)

In the first month following the break up, Mickey had done little but smoke, drink and do drugs, all from the comfort of his own bedroom. When Iggy or one of his other brothers would pass through every now and then to use the bathroom, they would throw him a fresh carton of cigarettes or a six pack of beer without a word.

They knew Mickey really didn’t want to talk about it.

Mandy’s name appeared on his cell phone every day without fail, but he always let it ring out. To her credit, she didn't give up, even when his voicemail box became full with her persistent worried messages. Mickey guessed Ian must have told her because he doubted anyone else knew how to get hold of her anymore.

Ian never called. Not once.

Mickey on the other hand lost count of all the times he hovered over Ian’s name in his contacts, wanting to call even if he didn't pick up, just to hear his voice telling him to leave a message. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t let Ian think that he had won and that Mickey’s life was shit without him. Wouldn't let him know that he missed him so much it felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe.

So each time he’d put the phone down, reach for a cigarette and let a little bit more of the heart break turn into hate. “Fuck you, Gallagher,” he’d mumble around his smoke as he lit it, “you stupid piece of shit.”

* * *

 

It was a few days into the second month when Iggy, obviously sick of his pitty party, decided to get Mickey out of his room, marching in like a man on a mission.

“Mickey, are you gonna’ get the fuck out of bed and come and help me sell this shit, or have I gotta get dumb ass to Colin instead?” Iggy had demanded from the doorway, holding out several bag of cocaine.

Mickey, who had been staring at the ceiling, a smoke dangling out his mouth just shrugged. Iggy sighed.

“Fine. You wanna let that shitty ginger kid turn you into some fucked up, gay Mrs Havisham, go ahead.”

The comment was met with silence until Mickey had let out a snort, turning his head to raise an eyebrow at his brother.

“The fuck you know about Charles Dickens books?”

Iggy grinned at this, responding, “Ay, fuck you, I went to English classes. Sometimes.”

Mickey had snorted again, before stubbing out his cigarette and swinging his legs round, letting his feet met the floor. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, his ‘Fuck U Up’ knuckles on full display before getting up and beginning to hunt round the room for clean clothes.

“Fuck off then, so I can get dressed in peace. Jesus.”

Iggy hadn’t been able to hide his smirk as he turned to leave. He was a fucking genius.

* * *

 

It was two weeks into the second month then Mickey, believing he had tortured his sister enough, picked up his phone.

“Mickey?!” She had gasped, not attempting to hide her mixture or relief and surprise.

“Yeah, Mands, wassup?” It was good to hear her voice.

“Wassup?! Are you fucking kidding, where have you been?” Mandy had practically screamed down the phone.

“Hey, quite busting my balls, for fuck sakes, I’ve been busy,”

“Busy?” she questioned, unconvinced.

“Yeah, busy.”

There was a brief silence before she said anything else. He was just about to ask when the fuck she was coming back home when she began speaking quietly, like she wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it.

“So, uh, Ian told me. About, you know, the break up.” It was strange for Mickey, to hear his badass, no bullshit sister trying to dance around his feelings.

“You spoke to him?”

There was another pause.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t think you’d want me to do the whole, picking sides bullshit.” She said eventually.

“No, of course not,” Mickey had laughed.

A million questions he wanted answered began to bounce around his brain.

 _Is he okay? What’s he doing? Has he said anything else about me? Does he miss me? Does he regret ending things? Is he seeing anyone else?_ In the end he settled for a less desperate sounding one.

“So, how is he?”

Mandy sighed. “He’s not taking his meds. He’s either manic, rambling on about complete shit or too depressed to even pick up the phone. What’s he like to you?”

Mickey had to take a deep breathe to get the next words out, too many feelings ranging from loss to longing rushing around his body. “I haven’t seen him since we broke up.”

The comment was left to linger before Mandy murmured, half to herself, “I guess that explains…” before trailing off.

“Explains what?” He asked, suddenly both hopeful and fearful all at once.

“I dunno if I should-‘’

“Explains what, Mandy, for fuck sakes!”

Silence.

“Why he says he misses you all the time,” She eventually whispered. Mickeys breathing hitched in his throat and his eyes began to burn. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yeah well, that’s his own fucking fault.” He managed to croak out.

“Yeah. Yeah I know.”

They didn’t talk about Ian for the rest of the call.

* * *

 

After the talk with Mandy, Mickey had even more of an urge to at least call Ian and see how he was. He hadn’t liked the picture Mandy had painted, of an Ian either bouncing of the walls or too sick to leave his bed. But like all the other times, he constantly reminded himself that it wasn’t his business anymore. Ian had made that very clear.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Mickey screwed his eyes shut at the memory, willing it to just fuck off. Trying to think of some other happy memory didn’t work either, because they all had Ian in.

Jesus, when had he gotten so fucking pathetic?

* * *

 

It was getting into the third month when he finally fucked someone else.

It had taken him less than a week last time, when Ian ran away with Monica. Mickey couldn’t quite work out what made him hold out so long this time. He tried not to think about it; either way Ian was fucking gone.

Mickey did however begin to regret his means of getting laid, as he stood in the gay club feeling really uncomfortable and really fucking stupid. It was the same club Ian used to dance at, and Mickey tried to convince himself that it wasn’t the reason he had chosen to come here. Any stinging disappointment when there wasn’t a trace of the red headed dancer was ignored.

Sat at the bar nursing a beer, he cast his eye over the room trying to find someone he’d be interested in screwing. It really didn’t matter to him, if he was honest, he just needed to get rid of this damn itch that jerking off was refusing to scratch anymore. If very least, he needed to prove to himself that Gallagher really was gone, and he couldn’t sit around waiting for him anymore.

In the end, he let some brown haired, lanky 17 year old fuck him in the alley out the back of the club. Hardly the best sex ever, but it did the job. Afterwards when the kid had tried to kiss him, Mickey beat the shit out of him. He left the alley with a strange sense of accomplishment seeping through him and the boy curled on the floor gasping for breath.

To be honest, it made him feel better. Like the old Milkovitch pieces of him were sliding back into place.

* * *

 

It was six months after the break-up when he met Josh.

Mickey still hadn’t seen or heard from Ian, but thought about him every day. He had begun to think of old memories more often, sometimes managing to feel almost happy as he did so. He dreamed about him almost every night.

Nightmares, reliving the break up or something even shittier had him waking up in cold sweats, and using every single scrap of his willpower to not call out for Ian or pick up his cell and dial his number.

Good dreams had him reliving old memories, remembering what it felt like to be fucked by Ian, to have him everywhere, hands tangled in hair, tongues lapping at heated skin and the head of his cock pressing into that spot over and over. Those dreams had him waking up gasping, desperate and surrounded by sticky sheets.

Mickey was sat in a North Side bar, having just finished a job Iggy set him up with, when he was approached by a young stranger. The boy looked to be late teens, early twenties, with blonde hair and dark brown eyes, a shit eating grin plastered over his face as he slid into the seat next to him.

“So, can I buy you a drink?” He asked, no hesitation.

Mickey scoffed and muttered, “Fuck off,” before turning his back.

“Okay, playing hard to get. I like it.” He had persisted, not missing a beat. Mickey sighed.

He really wasn’t in the mood, so he span back around quickly, hissing, “You wanna’ fucking punch?” only to have his anger completely disarmed by how unintimidated his companion looked.

“No,” he had smiled, eyebrows arched, “Just your number?”

_Seriously?_

Staring, mouth hanging open in shock, Mickey marveled at the kid’s guts. Then he laughed. Taking a second look, he realised that this guy was actually really hot, and even better, looked nothing like Ian.

“Okay then, tough guy, one drink.” He relented, trying his best to seem reluctant. The kid just grinned wider, before calling the barman over.

One week later they were dating. Mickey deleted Ian’s number on their fifth date.

* * *

 

Josh was nice.

He was 19, working for his dad at some big corporate company. He was laid back, easy to talk to. He didn’t expect too much nor did he accept too little. He had barely bat an eyelid when Mickey told him about having a kid, a Russian prostitute wife and being a pimp/drug dealer. He was good with Yev. He made Mickey laugh, made his dick hard and most importantly, allowed him to push Ian to the back of his mind, even if only for a little while.

Mickey loved him. He hadn’t told him, but he did. He was sure he did. He still loved Ian, but he was beginning to accept that maybe he always would.

Josh allowed him to love, and be loved. He didn’t scoff or make fun of Mickey when he was feeling sentimental, and wanted to shed his south side skin for a few hours. He taught him that on the North Side, where Josh lived and they spent most of their time together, that it was okay to be affectionate, that it wasn’t a weakness.

In short, he adored Mickey, and to be honest, it was nice to be the one holding the cards for a change.

So when Josh had suggested they go out, grab a bite to eat at a diner they both liked to celebrate six months since they started going out, Mickey rolled his eyes but smiled at the same time. He had never been one for anniversaries, but he owed it to Josh. He had slowly began to feel alive again in the last six months.

They had settled into their regular booth and their regular easy conversation when Mickey felt the urge to do something really out of character and reach across the table. He stroked his thumb across Josh’s hand, smiling at him warmly.

“I’m lucky to have you, you know.” Josh smiled back briefly but then suddenly snapped his eyes upwards before saying anything back. He looked confused. He looked pissed. Before Mickey could question him, he felt a tap on the shoulder.

“Hey Mick, fucking long time no see, huh?”

Mickeys blood turned to ice, his heart sped up its beating and he felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. He prayed that this was a fucking joke, as years or buried memories came rushing back all at once.

He spun around quickly, nearly sending his beer flying. He looked Ian up and down, willing him to just disappear.

A whole fucking year. A whole year, no word and now Ian’s just come flouncing up with a big grin on his face, like he expects to be welcomed back with open arms.

Fuck that.

Mickey buried the urge to touch him, hug him, and kiss him along with all the memories, once again somewhere deep in his head. He hardened his face, finally looking Ian dead in the eye.

“Gallagher? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

And he tried really hard not to care when the smile dropped from Ian’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Leave comments to let me know what you thought.


	3. Authors Note

Hi guys,  
So this fic has been abandoned for way over a year - however I am starting it back up again.   
The next chapter should hopefully be up by the end of today, tomorrow latest.   
I have no idea if people are still interested enough to read this but I recently got dragged back into the fandom due to the upcoming episodes with Noel in and felt like I needed to finish this fic. I'm really sorry for abandoning but after the way the writers of Shameless fucked up Ian and Mickey I had zero motivation or desire to stay part of the Shameless fandom. However, I have recently fallen back in love with Ian and Mickey and feel that this fic needs to be continued.   
I haven't watched any of season 6/7 (except the first episode of season 6) and will begin to catch up soon but for the purpose of this fic, it obviously has nothing from seasons 6/7 in it (Mickey doesn't go to prison etc). So for people who watch the show now, I'm sorry if Ian seems very ooc.   
Again, so sorry for abandoning you with a half finished fic, I just hope theres enough interest for me to finish it now! I'm so excited to post the next chapter and I hope you guy love it, ( or at least forgive me for being an ass hat.)  
Thanks again,  
Lily xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I shall be posting a new chapter every two weeks on a sunday from now on, just until my exams finish at the end of June, cause my schedule is gonna' be crazy until then. After that, I shall have ten blissful weeks of holiday though, so updates should be me often!  
> Sorry for any mistakes in this chapter, hope you enjoy!

Mickey had apologised to Josh nearly 20 times on the walk back to his apartment. After the eighteenth time of Josh telling him not to worry and that it wasn’t his fault their date had been hijacked by an ex-boyfriend, Mickey thought it would be a good idea to drop it. Josh obviously had other ideas.

“So that’s Ian, huh?”

“Yeah.” Mickey had told Josh about Ian, how he had slowly fallen in love with the 17 year old over the years. Told him all the fucked up stuff he had done, like beat the shit out of Ian, as well as the fact that once they became, ‘official,’ he had done anything and everything he could to keep him happy. Told him how, in the end, none of it mattered because Ian left him anyway.

“He’s hot,” Josh stated, taking a hit from the cigarette they had been sharing as they walked. Mickey just rolled his eyes.

“You’re not gonna’ get all jealous, are you?” he teased, stealing the cigarette back.

Josh laughed, “Fuck no. I’m way hotter anyway,” and began making kissing faces at Mickey. Mickey just punched his shoulder playfully in return, laughing with him,

“You’re such a dick.”

He wondered if his laughter sounded as hollow to Josh as it did to him.

* * *

 

Spending the rest of the day with Josh was nice. They went back to Josh’s apartment and Josh made them both something to eat to make up for the failure of the date at the diner. After, they watched a movie curled together on the sofa. Then they had sex.

It was nice. Really.

Thirty minutes into the afterglow, Mickey made his excuses and left. He could tell Josh had wanted him to stay, but after the events of the day he felt emotionally exhausted and craved his own space and bed like never before. He tried not to acknowledge the confused, hurt look that ghosted across Josh’s face as he put on the last of his clothes.

With a quick kiss on the head and an “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mickey was then out of the room, making his way out of the apartment.

He spent the whole walk and train ride home thinking about Ian. With Josh no longer around, he felt less guilty for doing so and he was finally able to process what he had seen at the diner.

Ian had looked good. He had always been hot, but he hadn’t looked like he was broken, or like he had fallen apart even remotely in the year they had been apart. He looked… content. Happy, even.

_Had he missed Mickey? Had he cried after the breakup? How long had it taken for him to fuck someone else?_

These were questions Mickey had tried his hardest not to think about since the first few months after the split, but now they were impossible to ignore.

When he finally reached the Milkovitch house, Iggy was sitting on the front steps smoking a cigarette. He didn’t look up as Mickey approached and sat down beside him. They are both men of few words and are more than happy to sit together in silence, so when Mickey mumbles a quiet, “Hey,” around his own smoke as he lights it, Iggy knows something is up.

“Boyfriend troubles?” Iggy takes a shot in the dark.

“No. Well… I don’t know.” Sighing, Mickey exhales a long stream of smoke in the direction of the dark night sky. He looks up to see if he can spot any stars. 

He saw the stars with Ian once. During the summer of his first manic episode, Ian had insisted he wanted to get out of the city for a day and see the stars, protesting, "You can never see them in the city, the streetlights are too fucking bright." Mickey, so relieved to see him happy and out of bed was willing to do whatever he wanted.

They drove for miles and miles, for hours, just talking and laughing, until Ian said he wanted to stop. It was around 11 at night when they did, in the deserted parking lot of a Wal-Mart. Ian had leaned over and kissed Mickey for the longest time, tongue licking his way into the shorted boys mouth, until Mickey had been whimpering. Ian had then stopped and dragged a protesting Mickey out of the car to lie on the hood side by side. They had stayed silent for a while, just pressed closely together, thigh to shoulder. Mickeys mind had begun to wander as he looked upwards at the stars, and he was just questioning how he had gotten so lucky when Ian's voice had interrupted his thoughts.

“Do you believe in heaven?” Mickey had been startled by both the question and the shattering of the silence.

“Fuck off.” Ian turned his head to look at the side of Mickeys.

“I’m serious, Mick, do you?”

“No,” Mickey finally said after debating it, “not one that I’ll get into anyway.” Ian seemed to consider this answer for a moment.

“What would be the point then?” It was Mickey then that turned his head to look at Ian. As their eyes met and for a few moments, Mickey just absorbed the way Ian looked in the darkness, with his features illuminated by dim streetlamps and bright star light. Beautiful wasn't a word he used often, but he couldn't think of one more fitting for how he looked right in that moment. Beautiful and _Mickeys_.

“The point in what?” He finally managed, his voice barley above a whisper.

“This,” Ian said simply, as if it was obvious, reaching out the run a hand down Mickey’s arm.

 

“Well, what do you know?” Iggy asked, snapping Mickey away from his memories. He shook his head, muttered, “Forget it,” and made his way into the house. Ian was right, couldn't see the fucking stars from the city anyway.

* * *

 

“Hello?” Mickey grunted into phone. It was nearly three in the morning and he still couldn’t sleep. He had been lying, staring at his ceiling, unmoving, for the last few hours. “Hello?” He tried again, having received no answer, pulling his phone back to read the number. Who the fuck was calling at this hour anyway? “Look, whoever this is, speak now or I’m hanging the fuck up.” The silence continued for a good thirty seconds more, and just as Mickey was about to put the phone down he heard a quiet voice ask,

“So when did you delete my number?” His heart began to pound again, just as it had upon seeing him again for the first time in a year. Holding the phone suddenly became difficult, his palms suddenly seemed very sweaty. Mickey took a minute to remind himself to fucking breathe. He thought about feigning he didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but it seemed wrong, as though to do so would confirm to Ian that everything they had had, all the love, lust and pain truly did break down to be meaningless.

“Gallagher?”

“Hey Mick,” came Ian’s small voice again.

“What the fuck do you want?” Mickey bit out, purposely hardening his voice. He had to seem angry that he had been disturbed by Ian so late, not dizzyingly relieved to hear from him again, he told himself firmly.

“I want to know when you got over me.”  This threw Mickey, and with nine words, the false anger became real. Ian wanted to know when _Mickey_ had gotten over _him_? Was he fucking _serious_?

“Whenever it was, it sure as hell was after you’d already gotten over me.” This statement was left to linger before Ian seemed to explode with both disbelief and his own anger.

“That’s not true, Mick! How can you think that, fuck!” Ian shouted, voice full of frustration. Mickey couldn’t stand it, it reminded him of so many other times when Ian had been red hot with anger at him, but so willing and ready to fight for them.

“Bye Gallagher,” he cut Ian off.

“No, Mick, wait please, let me-‘’ But he was cut off by Mickey hanging up the phone.

“Shit.” He muttered to himself, running his tattooed fingers over his face. “Shit.”

* * *

 

Ian didn’t try to call again for a week. Pretending it didn’t matter was surprisingly easy to Mickey but, then again, he realised it was what he had been doing for the better part of a year now. He woke up, got out of bed, smoked, and then would see where the day took him.

He saw Josh a few times, one day when they took Yev to the park. Things with Svetlana had gotten easier again once Ian had left and she had moved back into the Milkovitch house. She had almost seemed sympathetic when Mickey had told her Ian wouldn’t be coming around anymore.

“For good?” She had asked.

“For good.”

She seemed to process this information for a while, tilting her head slightly to the side before asking, “You know this for sure?” Mickey had nodded. Again she paused. “Yevgeny will be good for heartbreak. Maybe you can give him all love now.”

He had just stared at her, disbelieving, but willing to try anything to get rid of the awful fucking pain in his chest and the sickness in his stomach.

“Okay.”

Turns out she had been right.

Yev was hardly wanted, and for the first year of his life Mickey could have counted on one hand the amount of times he had felt anything towards the baby other than the deep desire to make him just disappear. If it hadn’t been for his conception, he would have had a lot more time with Ian where it would have been just them two.

Now looking back he realised his innocent son had saved him from having a lot more memories to mourn.

So he began spending a lot more time with him, and Mickey soon realised how much he did indeed love his son. When Josh came into the picture, he found it easy to integrate him into this. Josh had endless patience and love for Yev, would play and entertain him for hours on end, spoiling him rotten any occasion he got.

This fierce love reminded Mickey of the love Ian had for Yev once. Except Josh never kidnapped him.

Mickey also called Mandy that week, to see how she was doing and ask for the one hundredth time since she had left, when the fuck was she coming home? His heart had sunk when he got the same generic answer as always, soon Mick, soon. He didn’t tell her he had seen Ian or that he had called.

The rest of the week was taken up with boring drug runs with his brother to keep the money rolling in and the occasional solitary drink he had at the Alibi, late at night when he had no hope of sleep.

Lying alone in his bed after having sent Josh home, telling him he couldn’t crash, he had the sudden urge to dig under his bed for an old magazine. It was the same one he had hidden the photo of Ian in for years, only this time it contained one of the both of them. Ian had called it a selfie, whatever the fuck that was, and it had been his phone wallpaper until…

Tracing his fingers over the creased paper, he tried not to jump out of his skin or swear too loudly, when the vibrating of his phone made him jump. He knew who it was without having to look at the number.

“What do you want, Gallagher, Its three in the god damn morning.”

Ian let out a sigh of relief, like he hadn’t expected Mickey to answer. “You saved my number?” The hope in his voice made Mickey close his eyes and count to ten. Why was he doing this?

“Why are you doing this?”

This seemed to shock Ian. “Doing what?” he questioned.

“Doing- doing, you know- fuck, just doing this Gallagher, calling at stupid o’clock like you haven’t just gone a year without uttering one word to me.” Mickey struggled to grasp the right words. “Not even a fucking hello, how fucking are you.” Did Ian not understand that this is killing him, word by word, piece by piece, like he’s always known how to.

There was silence then, nothing but the dead static that seemed to hang somewhere between the both of them. It almost seemed comfortable. When Ian wasn’t talking, Mickey could pretend that he wasn’t desperate to hear him.

“Remember the week after you came out, before my depression hit, the day we just stayed in bed all day together?” Mickey doesn’t say anything, but Ian must take it as a yes because he continues anyway. “Remember, it was just you and me? We didn’t move from your room. Remember that I spent the whole day touching you, kissing you, fucking you, god-“ His voice breaks, like he was so caught in the memory it hurts him to realise its long gone now. Mickey keeps silent. “Remember I asked you if there was anything I could do to make you stop loving me, and you said no?”

The implication hangs in the air, and Mickey doesn’t like it one fucking bit. Of course he remembers. Ian hadn’t exactly worded it like that, had asked if there was anything that could make Mickey stop wanting this, while gesturing to the two of them tangled together in the sheets, but the true meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

“Did you mean it?” Ian’s voice is small when he asks. Like he’s the injured party, the fucking dick.

“Fuck you.” He spits.

“Did you mean it, Mick,”

“Fuck you.” Mickey repeats. How can Ian ask him that?

“Did you mean it, just tell me, please.” Ian begs, like it actually fucking matters to him.

“Don’t fucking ask me that.” He tries instead. He’s not giving him the satisfaction of the answer he wants.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” Ian starts from nowhere, not missing a beat, “and she wants me make amends to all the people I hurt when I was manic.”

Well shit. This is new.

“You’ve been taking your meds?” Mickey asks, before he can stop himself, could kick himself for showing anything towards Ian other than hate and disinterest.

“Yeah,” Ian says and Mickey can just picture him on the other end of the phone, shrugging like this is nothing, “and I want to meet up. I need to do this as part of my therapy. Shall we say the diner I saw you in last week?”

Mickey feels sick. Is this all Ian wanted from him? His help in some dumb fucking, twelve steps to redemption programme. But then, what else should he have expected really? Ian had made it very clear a year ago exactly how he felt towards Mickey.

_You don’t owe me anything._

“What makes you think I give a shit enough to show up?”

“Nothing,” All trace of confidence is gone from Ian, and the small voice has made a reappearance, “I just hope you do.” Mickey hangs up the phone, can’t handle any more of this shit. Can’t listen to Ian’s voice so full of hope it’s almost as though he’s hoping for something much bigger than forgiveness.

But as much as Micky may hate him, he loves him too much to deny him help. He’s only ever wanted Ian happy and healthy so if he can’t be the one to make him happy, he’ll do what he can to help him complete this therapy bullshit. He runs a tattooed hand over his face before typing out a text to the number Ian called him from.

_Same diner, tomorrow, 3pm. Don’t stand me up, douchebag._


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian talk.

Mickey hadn't told Josh he was meeting Ian. He hadn't lied, exactly, he just also hadn't been completely truthful.

Fuck.

Mickey wondered fleetingly how Ian had enough power over him to make him ditch his boyfriend on a Saturday night to help Ian on some bullshit road to redemption. 

It's not like Josh wouldn't understand. He has told Josh before how fucked up he was after Ian left, how it took so much for him to be able to put his life back together again. It was the most vulnerable Josh had ever seen him, post-sex and on a comedown from the joint they had smoked _pre_ -sex.

"What's the deal with your ex," he had asked. The question had caught Mickey by surprise; Josh wasn’t the jealous type. He had then realized how obvious his avoidance of all things ex's and the past had been and had mentally kicked himself. Fucking idiot. Because of course, normal people don't take this long getting over one relationship they barley even had for 6 months.

He had searched for the right words to explain everything Ian had been over years instead, and then, in the space of a few short minutes, everything he had not been. 

In the end he settled for the cold, hard truth.

"He broke me." Josh waited patiently, holding Mickey’s gaze. "When he left," Mickey continued eventually, "I- I just broke."  He couldn't find anymore to say, his throat suddenly tight. He had obviously looked upset, because next thing Mickey knew, Josh had been wrapping his arms around Mickey, pulling him into his chest, and into the warmth and safety Mickey had slowly begun to realize was there whenever he was with Josh. 

"Shh, Mickey, baby. It's alright. Fuck him, _I_ can help you put yourself back together now. I promise." He had murmured into his hair, stroking down his back. 

It had been enough.

So why didn't it feel like enough now?

-

Mickey paused outside the diner door.

“ _You don’t owe me anything._ ”

He could already see Ian inside, the back of his big orange head visible easily through the glass. This was his last chance to turn back. He immediately snorted to himself, and shook his head as he pushed open the door. Who the fuck was he trying to kid? He had to get this over with, even if only for the sake of closure or whatever other bullshit, head shrink related stuff Ian needed. 

He strode in quickly and practically hurled himself down in the booth opposite Ian. Ian looked startled but his surprise immediately turned into a smile as he looked at Mickey. 

"Hey Mick,"  Mickey wondered if he was using his old nickname on purpose, to take Mickey’s mind back to a time where it would role off Ian tongue as he fucked into him.

"Let's just fucking get this over with Gallagher," he muttered. Ian's smile didn't falter the way he had hoped. If anything he broke into a wider grin.

"I fucking missed you."

Mickey felt the urge to strangle him. If this was all going to be crap to make Mickey feel like he had meant something to Ian all that time ago, when he did a pretty damn good job of proving the opposite, he was out.

“You knew where I was. You missed me so fucking bad, you should have come over. Could have at least picked up the fucking phone once, I mean-” Mickey broke off and rubbed his tattooed knuckles against his eyes. By the time he looked up again he was surprised to see Ian looking- shy? No, guilty. Mickey searched back through his memories, trying to find one where Ian had looked like this before. He couldn’t.

“I’m- I would say I’m sorry Mick, but that doesn’t even cover it. I fucked up. I really, really fucked up.” Ian stared into Mickeys eyes intently as he said it. Then, silence.

“That it?” Mickey snorted, raising his eyebrows in challenge. He began to get up to leave but Ian’s hand suddenly gripping onto his arm where he had thrust it out in alarm stopped him. He looked down at where Ian’s hand was touching his bare skin then up to Ian’s face. Ian was still staring at him, his eyes boring into Mickey’s, as though he wanted him to feel his gaze and his skin against Mickey’s skin and nothing else.

One fucking year and he could still make Mickey feel like his little bitch. How fucking pathetic was that?

“Please, Mick. Please sit down. I want to talk to you, properly.”

Mickey rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and sat down again.

“Fucking speak then.”

-

So Ian did.

He began talking about what he had done in the year they where apart, telling Mickey how he started dancing again and how dancing quickly led onto more.

“So you fucked for money?” Mickey interrupted, cringing at the emotion in his voice. He wasn’t supposed to care, not anymore.

But Ian had simply laughed at him. “Not fucking, just hand stuff.” When Mickey had looked at him in disbelief, he had waggled his eyebrows and said, “Come on Mick, you must remember how good I am with my hands.”

Mickey had given him with a stony stare.

He told Mickey how he would go on benders, not going home for weeks on end, sometimes longer. How he didn’t even know Debbie was pregnant until she was showing. He told Mickey how sometimes he would dance for drug dealers to skip the middle man and get the coke into his system faster. How he woke up in stranger’s beds with no memories of the night before. How, when his depression phase eventually hit, he finally went home only for his own sister Fiona not to recognize him. How he was so out of it, Carl started calling him, “ginger Frank.”

“That wasn’t enough to get you to clean up?”

Ian paused. “Actually, I decided to get help around three months ago. I-‘’ Mickey could tell Ian was embarrassed. “I had a HIV scare.”

Well, shit. Mickey had not seen that one coming. He tried to bury the tiny bit of disappointment he felt that he wasn’t at least part of the reason, but really, he knew he was deluding himself in the first place thinking he could have been.

“Are you… okay?” He asked hesitantly.

Ian smiled, “Oh yeah, completely okay. Negative, thank god. But it was enough. I actually booked myself into a mental health clinic the day I got my result.”

Mickey was proud. He couldn’t pretend not to be proud, he had seen Ian try to drag himself out of that hole before with the help of Mickey and his family. To do it practically alone couldn’t have been easy.

“Congrats, man,” was all he outwardly said.

“Thanks.” Ian almost whispered, but he looked like the words had meant a lot to him. Mickey was about to think of a way to make his excuses and leave when Ian’s voice caught him by surprise, asking nervously, “So, was that guy I saw you with, like, a date? Or a boyfriend.”

Part of Mickey felt like it was a trick question. “That’s Josh. We’ve been together for about 6 months.” Ian couldn’t hide the shock and hurt that flashed through his green eyes all at once. He tried to, but Mickey knew him better than that. Fuck him to feel like the injured party.

“So a boyfriend, huh? Wow, I mean, wow, that’s almost as long as we where official for, Jesus Mickey…” he trailed off.

Mickey simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, Josh is a really nice guy.”

“I’m glad, I mean, you deserve someone good after-” Ian couldn’t finish the sentence but Mickey could.

“After you?”

Ian looked down at the table and nodded. Then he broke out into hysterical laughter. “Shit,” was all he said between breaths, over and over again, “shit, shit, shit.”

Mickey couldn’t help join in, for the sheer lunacy of it all and because Ian’s laughter had always been contagious. He was sat with his ex who had broken his heart, who he has sworn to god he would do anything to get back, who he had pined after for months, telling him how he had moved on now with a “nice guy.”

“Hey man, you weren’t all that bad.” He shrugged eventually, a grin on his face. Ian stopped laughing but carried on smirking.

“Oh, come on Mick, I was an ass! I mean, my refusal to take meds, stealing your fucking kid, all the guys and-” Mickeys heart suddenly skipped a beat and Ian must have noticed the smile drop from his face because he quickly broke off. Mickey had gone cold all over.

_“Guys_?” he asked, trying to sound calm. It came out like a hiss.

“Mickey, I, shit-“

“What fucking _guys_ Ian,”

Ian swallowed visibly.

“There where- there where guys I- I did stuff with when I was manic. Before I stole Yev. Maybe, 2 or 3. I can’t really remember, its all a little fuzzy.”

“You mean you- you mean you _fucked_ random strangers then came crawling into _my_ bed every night?” Mickey practically shouted. Ian said nothing. “Fuck you, Ian.”

And without another word he got up and stormed out of the diner, bile rising steadily in his throat. This time he shook off Ian’s grasp on his arm and protests without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the support guys! Again sorry if characters seem OOC compared to those on the show now, I'm writing as though seasons 6/7 never happened lol. Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had tons of assignments due in the last few weeks, but I finally got around to finishing off this chapter. It's a little smaller than the others, but the next one should be a biggie! Hope you enjoy.

Mickey walked. He walked for what felt like hours without really seeing where he was going. He just focused on the thudding of his feet on the ground in front of him, as he ran Ian’s words around his head.

_“All the guys.”_

He was scared if he stopped walking he’d either collapse or hurl his guts up. And what was worse than what Ian had said was what he _hadn’t_. He hadn’t denied fucking strangers and Mickey on the same fucking night. He hadn’t denied playing house with Mickey, all the while having his secret sex.

He hadn’t denied that he had done it when Mickey thought they’d been happy.

He thought back to when they were first together, finally, without all the bullshit. After Mickey’s dad was carted away to prison and Mickey finally felt free to be who he was with Ian. After they had gotten over Ian’s first depressive stage. Sure, Ian had been manic. But hadn’t he been _happy_ with Mickey? Jesus.

Mickey thought Ian had been over the fucking moon, hadn’t being together, _properly_ together, always been what he wanted?

He thought back to the first time he went to juvie when Ian had come to visit him. He had put his hand against the glass and looked at Mickey like a love sick fucking puppy. Like all Mickey had to do was put his hand against his and it would have been everything to Ian. He remembered being both jealous and shocked by Ian’s boldness, his ability to just be without fearing the consequences.

God, did the Ian sat across from him earlier tonight feel like a million miles away from the Ian that would look at him like he was the world and more. Mickey felt anger rising within him and suddenly he felt like marching back into the diner and punching Ians lights out.

 After all, he had just been another ass for him to screw.

 

Without realizing it, he ended up on Josh’s front door. He pressed the buzzer without truly contemplating how wrong it was for him to come from dinner with his ex to his boyfriends for a fuck. But he needed this.

“Hey, you.” Josh grinned at him as he opened the door. “You should have warned me you were-” before he could finish Mickey had launched himself at him.

He moved his lips frantically against Josh’s, loving and hating all at once how they felt like home to him. Josh’s smell felt like home to him, his touch too. He’d been a fucking shithead going to see Ian.

“I want you so much,” he whispered hotly into Josh’s ear. He pulled back and watched Josh’s pupils dilate in lust. Josh snaked a hand around to the back of Mickey's neck and gripped it tightly, fingers winding into his hair. Mickey hissed.

“Shit, Mickey, what’s got you so riled up?” Josh panted into his mouth.

Mickey ignored the question and sucked Josh’s bottom lip into his mouth and bit hard.

“Fuck,” Josh whimpered and Mickey tasted blood against his tongue now. Good.

“Fuck baby, I wanna’ be inside you,” Josh panted, tugging Mickey by the belt loop of his jeans in the direction of the bedroom.

“Yes,” Mickey groaned, “fuck me, please.”

And they did fuck. Twice. It’s so good, it leaves Mickey tingling everywhere, and Mickey thinks this is what he’s been craving since Ian came back; proof that Ian isn’t the only one that can make him _feel_ something. It leaves Mickey so blissed out in fact, that he doesn’t notice his phone ringing until Josh points it out.

“It’s Ian,” Josh says and suddenly his voice seems small, “He’s text you 6 times as well.”

“Pass it here,” Mickey mumbles around his cigarette. Josh hands it to him wordlessly, watches with wide eyes as Mickey presses the ‘ignore call’ button.

“You know, you don’t have to do that for me, Mickey. I get that you probably….” He hesitates. “You probably want to talk to him, get answers at least. I know _I_ would.”

He looks so genuine, trying to reassure Mickey at the same time as trying to hide his own insecurities, Mickey can’t help run a hand through his hair fondly.

“I love you, Josh,” he smiles as he says it, “that dickhead ain’t worth shit to me anymore.” He loves the way Josh’s doubt disappears from his face at the words, as he pulls him close.

 

When he knows Josh is soundly asleep he reads the text messages.

_7:23pm: Mick, I know I fucked up. Please, just let me explain._

_7:24pm: Don’t ignore me, Mickey._

_8:12pm: I know you’re angry. I’m pretty sure I’m just as angry with myself. Please, hear me out. Can we please meet up again? Anywhere, anytime. Anything._

_8:45pm: Come on, Mick, I’m trying. I need to see you, talk to you at least. Please at least send me a message, let me know you got home okay._

_9:36pm: I swear to God Mickey, if I was sure you were home right now, I’d turn up on your doorstep._

_10:48pm: You know, Mickey, you can’t just shut your eyes and wish me away. I’m still here. Don’t you fucking see that? I’m still here._

 

Mickey snorts at the last message. Of course, Mickey knows Ian's still here, _that's_  the fucking problem. Ian was always there. In his thoughts, in his dreams, in his fantasies for fuck's sake. All he had wanted for the last 6 months was for Ian to be gone, gone for good.

Mickey was a joke.

A fucking joke, the punchline being that he knew, the next time Ian called, Mickey would answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you loved! Please remember to leave feedback as it lets me know people care enough for me to keep writing & also helps me improve! Thanks, Lily x

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, leave comments!  
> (Title is from a quote I saw on tumblr!)


End file.
